The Final Countdown
by James316
Summary: The first story in a 3 part trilogy that deals with the final battle with Lord Voldemort and its aftermath, in a story arc combining established and original characters and themes.
1. Chapter 1

**THE GRYFFINDOR TRILOGY**

**PART ONE**

**THE FINAL COUNTDOWN**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**A/N – **Welcome to my first fanfic! If you're reading this, thank you. This is my first foray into writing for Portkey, and I invite you to join in the adventure. This story, The Final Countdown, is the first in a 3-part trilogy. This story, at least the beginnings of it, are to canon, but will soon take on its own shape and course, as I introduce both established and new characters of my own into the mix. Thanks very much for reading, I really hope you enjoy and can leave a review. Oh, one last thing; Europe rock! Hence the title…_IT'S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN! DE-DE-DE-DUH, DE-DE-DE-DE-DUH! _Okay, I'll stop…

The clear blue canvas of the sky made the perfect backdrop for the sunset, the blue fading into a deep orange in the dusk as the sun began to drop from the horizon. Harry Potter stood leaning forward against the wooden fence on the outer-most edge of The Burrow, where a thin path winding through the hedgerows and shrubs led to the open field where he had played Quidditch with Ron and his older twin brothers, Fred and George.

Through his rounded glasses, he watched the sunset with a quiet awe, a new awareness born of his own destiny. How many more of these sunsets did he have before him?

Behind him, Harry could hear the faint strains of music, dancing, happy times. The wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour that mid-afternoon had been a simple affair conducted outside The Burrow, attended by all manner of guests from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry of Magic, and the Beauxbatons Wizarding Academy of France.

Harry had enjoyed the ceremony itself, sitting beside his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He enjoyed watching two people he knew, not well but well enough to be fond of, become truly happy. Harry yearned for the ability to remember a time when he had felt that happy, but all roads led back to one…_Voldemort_.

Harry had distanced himself from the party as the afternoon wore on into evening, slipping away hopefully unnoticed in the midst of the laughter, the food and drink, the company. He had loosened the white tie he wore over a dark blue shirt and navy trousers, his jacket laying forgotten over a chair somewhere.

He had _wanted _to enjoy himself today; he yearned for it. But it didn't come. The cold, dark emptiness within Harry's soul had grown over the course of the month or so it had been since the death of Albus Dumbledore. He had felt guilty earlier, in joining the toasts to the happy couple, laughing at the best man speeches, enjoying the banquet dinner that must have become the bane of Mrs. Weasley's existence, in its size and quality.

_How dare you_, his heart had raged at Harry. Once again, it had isolated him from all those around him. _Better do it now, it'll only get harder later. _The bad thing was, Harry was starting to agree with that.

"Harry?" A familiar voice said, behind him.

Harry turned around; Hermione stood before him. In a pale silver-blue dress, her brown hair magically straightened for the purposes of today, she looked truly beautiful. The look of concern on her face, though, was a keeper, something that was never too far away. _Especially this month…_

"What are you doing here?" She asked, stepping closer, carefully with her heeled shoes on the uneven grass.

Harry nodded behind him, out over the open fields surrounding The Burrow, "Just watching the sun go down." He had said that _way _too casually; lately, Harry had begun watching his words very carefully around Hermione. It wasn't just what he said, but the way he said it, that his best female friend picked up on. And even when he got it right, she still saw through it half the time. He turned back to lean his arms across the fence.

"Is that all?" She asked insightfully, moving beside Harry, leaning over the same fence. She shivered involuntarily against the slight breeze in the air, something Harry noticed. He raised his left hand to the sky, closed his eyes for a second, and clicked his fingers loudly.

"Show off," Hermione retorted dismissively.

"At least it's progress," Harry said. A few seconds later, a dark shape flew across the vast garden, straight for Harry's outstretched hand. He caught his jacket effortlessly, slipping it over Hermione's shoulders. She smiled her thanks as they resumed their vigil, the orange sky becoming tinted with purple. Harry's grasp of unspoken, wandless magic had come staggeringly quickly to Hermione; he already had the basic commands mastered.

What she didn't know, however, was that Harry regularly did without sleep, so he could fit in a few more hours practice, as Ron and Hermione concentrated on sorting through the various clues that would, or in their case would not, lead them to the Horcruxes. Such a division had been Ron's idea, and Harry accepted it as a good idea in a kind of largely unspoken conversation between the three one evening, as the importance of what they were doing together began to further sink in.

"Did you enjoy the wedding?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry nodded, eyes fixed on the horizon, "Yeah, it was great."

"I noticed you keeping a respectful distance from Ginny…"

"That's one way of putting it," Harry said, again too casually, "Where's Ron?"

Hermione shook her head slightly, "Engaging in a drinking contest with his brothers. Including the groom."

Harry grinned to himself, "Guess we're carrying him home."

"Speak for yourself," Hermione countered, with an air of polite indignation. She turned her head slightly to look at Harry again, "Are you sure everything's alright?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You've been a bit…withdrawn, lately," Hermione started tentatively.

Harry turned to face her, his brow creased in mild irritation, "Hermione, you know me better than anyone. If you've got something to say, say it."

She huffed loudly, "Fine. I know you haven't been sleeping, you barely eat, you spend every waking moment you have practicing, more and more by yourself these days. I'm worried about you."

"Believe me, since that prophecy you're not the only one."

"I know what you're trying to do, Harry."

"What?"

Hermione sighed; not in anger or irritation, but in sorrow, "You're shutting us out, Harry. All of us."

Harry turned back to the sky; he couldn't bear to face her when she was like this. When she was right.

She continued, "You think it's going to be easier for you, for the rest of us, if you cut your ties to this life before you face him."

Harry could feel his throat begin to seize up. _Please, not here…_

"Life doesn't work that way, Harry. People don't have a spell to turn off their emotions. You need us, Harry, more than ever…and we need you," she finished quietly.

Harry turned back to her, "What could you possibly need me for?" His voice was soft, quiet…broken.

"You're our friend…" Hermione said quietly.

Harry interrupted her, shaking his head, "All I do is cause trouble." He turned away from her, "People around me, the ones that get really close to me…" He trailed off, a tear forming in his eye, "My parents…Sirius…Dumbledore…all they ever did was try and protect me…"

Hermione moved closer, putting a hand on his arm, "It's okay," she whispered.

"I know what's going to happen to me," Harry said, allowing the tear to run down his cheek, his voice wavering, "I've accepted that. It's…Hermione, I don't want anyone else to die…"

"We won't," Hermione whispered.

"You don't know that," Harry said.

"'ARRY!" Ron Weasley emerged from behind the hedgerows, staggering forward with a goofy smile plastered across his face, his cheeks red from…well, Harry needed one guess. His blue suit, matching with all the other Weasley brothers, was disheveled, his white shirt wet from…yeah, Harry only needed one guess at that too.

Ron almost ran into Harry, throwing his arms around him in a bear-hug, "ALLO MATE!" Beside him, Hermione turned away, huffing loudly again, her arms crossed in front of her. Harry winced and grimaced, but could do nothing to break his other best friend's grip.

"Just wanted to say I love ya, mate!" Ron slurred.

"Thanks," Harry said, all of a sudden unsure of how to act in this situation.

"I mean it man, without ya, I coulda been a…a…"

"Drunk?" Hermione said testily.

"Yeah yeah, one o' them," Ron said, waving a hand wildly in Hermione's general direction, "I gotta get back, mate, Fred's challenged me to a drinking game. I can't lose, innit!"

"Innit," Harry said plainly as Ron let go of him and stumbled off up the path. He glanced back at Hermione, whose mouth had thinned into a fully-fledged pout. She shook her head, "Typical."

"What?" Harry asked.

"On the day of his brother's wedding, he makes a mockery of himself!"

Harry allowed himself to grin again, "I think the groom's a bit worse for wear, too."

Hermione did not dare let herself smile, but the anger displayed on her face slowly faded. She stepped closer to Harry again, "Look, if you need to talk to someone, you can always…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Harry said quickly, waving off her request with a remarkable air of casualness. Just like that, Hermione observed, his shield was back up. He was once again The Chosen One, not the lonely, frightened boy she had just had a rare glimpse of…

"Do you want to go back to the party?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded reluctantly, "Yeah, okay."

"Okay," Hermione said, linking her arm around Harry's. Together, they began walking back up, Hermione leaning on Harry's arm to steady her, with these shoes she was wearing. Gradually, they re-entered the throng of humanity.

There had to have been a hundred people here, Harry thought. Everyone he knew, at least those still in the realm of the living, were here. He could see Hagrid towering above the rest, dwarfed only by Madame Maxine as they both knocked back a tankard of…something. So many people were dancing, most of them Harry recognized as Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students. It looked more lively than the Yule Ball ever did…then again, Harry had been slightly prejudiced against that particular function. Mrs. Weasley was bustling about doing something or other, snapping at her husband for not moving quickly enough. Harry shook his head slightly, a slight smile appearing. _The more things change, the more they don't._

A new song started, magically hanging in the air. Harry faintly recognized it; he creased his brow trying to recall. Hermione, her arm still linked with his, turned to him, "What?"

"I remember this song from somewhere," He said.

Hermione smiled, "Don't you know anything about old Muggle music?"

When Harry displayed ignorance, she pressed on, "This is a song by Queen, it's a classic. Come on," She said, guiding him over towards the makeshift dance-floor. The last thing Harry felt like was dancing, but he listened to the words as he allowed himself to be dragged along by his best friend.

_This thing, called love_

_I just can't handle it_

_This thing, called love_

_I must get round to it_

Somehow, those words carried a special poignancy for Harry, despite the fast and catchy music. Then he remembered; _the power he knows not._

_I ain't ready!_

_Crazy little thing called love_

_That makes two of us_, Harry thought.

**CHAPTER TWO**

**A/N – **Hope that you enjoyed Chapter One, which I suppose you must have if you're reading this. I just wanted to touch on a couple of emotional themes before getting started with the more action-y stuff, so this chapter will be a bit half-and-half in that respect, as we start to get the ball rolling on this story. Thanks for reading, any and all reviews are very much appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**A/N – **Hope that you enjoyed Chapter One, which I suppose you must have if you're reading this. I just wanted to touch on a couple of emotional themes before getting started with the more action-y stuff, and this chapter will just flesh those out a little bit more, so you can really understand what is driving Harry and Hermione through this story. Ron will of course feature heavily, but in a more action-based role, rather than emotional. Anyway, enjoy, and review if you can because they're greatly appreciated.

Sleep did not come easily for Harry that night; in fact, it didn't come at all. He lay in his bed, at Grimmauld Place, his mind spinning as much as Ron's head would surely do come the morning. Returning to their new-found 'home' with an extremely drunken Weasley in tow had been no picnic, especially with Hermione's steadfast refusal to help Harry with the burden, accept to unlock the right doors and wear a constant look of superior indignation. Harry had groaned and grunted up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with Ron, who slept peacefully, save the odd, brief choking noise that jolted Harry each time, fearful of the worst.

Harry's tired, sleep-deprived mind had convinced him that he's been laying there for hours trying to sleep, but in reality it had been just more than one. The constant, nagging feeling that every moment not being spent in the hunt for Voldemort was a moment wasted got to Harry at night, when his usual stoic emotional control was weakened, his 'Chosen One' mantra, a publicly-perceived ideal that Harry at times clung to as a source of confidence, seemingly disproven by such attacks of anxiety, of the like he was now experiencing.

He dare not sleep, nor even try to. Sleep invites dreams, and those dreams had been…harrowing. The faces of so many loved ones dead at Harry's feet…the deaths Harry had been a witness to; Cedric Diggory, the deadly _Avada Kedavra _curse that swept away the great Albus Dumbledore…deaths that had not occurred, yet presented themselves to Harry's subconscious mind with a startling clarity; Neville, Dean, Fred, George…Ron…Hermione…

It had been about two weeks since Harry faced that dream, the one where Hermione died. The sight of her dead body on the muddy ground, her face stone cold and devoid of all life, made Harry cry silently into his pillow for the rest of that night. It was torture, even more so _because _it was Hermione. All the others, all the men, they could fight, they could defend themselves, but _Hermione_…she had to be protected.

It was not just arrogant male protectionism that Harry derived that notion from; Hermione was too important to him to die. While Ron was Harry's wing-man, his ally, his team-mate through thick and thin, Hermione was his brains, his rationality, even his conscience. It was if Harry himself was half a being, and his two best friends completed him. During this past month, from the first two weeks at the Dursleys, to moving into Grimmauld Place and making it somewhat livable, Harry had come to realize just how much she meant to him. In forsaking their friends and families in this quest, the trio's bonds had grown deeper, and with the newfound maturity that such responsibility for the magical world brought, Harry had realized and appreciated this.

Sick and tired of _trying _to sleep, Harry threw back the duvet and got up, pacing his way quietly downstairs in his pyjamas. Finding himself at the dining table, Harry thumbed through a stack of yellowing parchments that had accumulated across the wooden surface. He picked out one from the pack, and looked at it for about the twentieth time.

About a week ago, Harry had found himself down Knockturn Alley. It was a dangerous move, especially in such times, but he had been told by someone in The Leaky Cauldron that there was a certain…individual that dealt in finding specific places, and creating Portkeys to get there. With that in mind, Harry had traversed the alley under his Invisibility Cloak for much of the trip, only daring to show himself within that shop, a small wooden shack bolted onto the end of the main bank of shops.

The man was tall, gaunt, gray-haired and grubby, but Harry had a sense that what he could provide could be trusted. He did not give the aura of a thief or a criminal, rather a man down on his luck, resorting to illegal activities to make a living. Harry paid five Galleons for a map and a Portkey, which until now had been wrapped up in an oily brown rag, stashed under Harry's mattress.

Harry studied the map, noting its supposed accuracy, in its attention to detail. Godric's Hollow was a small town, respectable and well-kempt with a keen awareness of its own history. What little information Harry had read on the subject had told him that. His eyes found the blank square at almost dead-centre on the map; _the cemetery_…

He had been putting this off for too long, he knew that. Something about actually _seeing _his parents' grave was something Harry was uncomfortable with. It represented final, irrefutable proof that his parents really were dead. Of course, Harry had accepted that most difficult of realities, but didn't exactly welcome visual confirmation of that. Still, it had become a wedge in Harry's already weighed-down mind, sticking out as a thing undone.

_Fine…_

Harry quickly changed into warmer clothes in his bedroom, taking care not to wake Ron. When he was fully dressed, in jeans and a T-shirt and sweater under a black jacket, Harry carefully lifted up the corner of his mattress, and withdrew that brown rag. He knelt down and laid it out on the floor, peeling back the rag.

Inside was a jagged, roughly square-shaped piece of gray stone.

_A gravestone_.

In a moment, Harry was standing outside the front door of Grimmauld Place, the night sky passing a constant, chilling breeze through the air that reinvigorated Harry's senses. Holding the rag flat in the palm of his hand, he looked around for any hint of people or activity, then slowly reached for the stone with his left hand…

_WHOOSH! _That familiar feeling gripped Harry, of being gripped and pitched into the wind. He closed his eyes in an effort to combat the nausea, waiting for it to end.

He fell to the ground, landing on his back on a patch of neat, dew-sodden grass. Gingerly, he propped himself up to his feet, looking around. A few lamps hung on trees dotted around the cemetery, providing a low level of light. Still, Harry's vision was hampered by a thick mist of fog. He withdrew his wand from his back pocket and muttered _Lumos_, the bright light at the tip of his wand guiding him as he approached a row of gravestones, inspecting the names.

Finally, he caught sight of a plain-looking slab of grey stone, neat and well-maintained. The engraving read:

JAMES AND LILY POTTER

LOVING HUSBAND, WIFE AND PARENTS

IN SACRIFICE, THEY GO TO A BETTER WORLD

Harry sunk to his knees, his feet numb and no longer able to support his weight. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes began to water. He wiped at his face furiously as his grief took over, wracking him as he cried onto the sleeve of his jacket.

Hermione watched from behind a nearby tree. She had found about this place through careful reading, and managed to Apparate unseen, arriving a few minutes before Harry did. As she watched Harry break down, her heart screamed at her to go to Harry, to try and comfort him. But the rational side of her told her to stay away, to give Harry this privacy to grieve. A tear welled in her eye as she watched, heartbroken. _Had he ever been able to grieve his parents? _Hermione had thought.

She found it so desperately unfair, how Voldemort had taken away so much from Harry, and the magical world had now forced Harry into getting rid of him. They did not make the prophecy, of course, but the whole 'Chosen One' campaign, the cynical attempt to cash in on Harry's repaired image, made Hermione's blood boil. Her entire childhood she had worshipped the Ministry.

But as she watched her best friend cry, unable to stop herself from tearing up, she knew the terrible effect it had on the people she loved.


End file.
